


Falling For A Stranger

by Beccafiend



Category: Saiyuki, Saiyuki Ibun
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 21:16:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16457366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beccafiend/pseuds/Beccafiend
Summary: "Girls, we do, whatever it will take. 'Cause girls don't want, we don't want our hearts to break in two. So it's better to be fake, can't risk losing in love again, babe"Houmei/Jyoan ficlet/drabble collection





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

> When your friend gets you into a rarepair and you have feels and dump them all on Tumblr and then decide it's time to put them on Ao3. I had a lot of feelings also I love Jyoan kthxbye.

Since day one, Houmei has reminded him of home. Not in that cheesy, romantic way that talks of love and family and childhood innocence and a yearning for simpler times - no, his youth didn’t have any of those things. It was ugly, it was tacky, and it’s something he wanted so badly to forget. He’d barely managed to get by for so long, living in a town that hated him as much as he hated  _ it _ . He wasn’t those people who tormented him, he was better. At least that’s what he told himself.

 

Houmei felt like a slap in the face, at first. He was tacky, he was cheapy, he was loud and obnoxious and on the surface, everything those who tormented him were. Jyoan hated it and decided he hated  _ him _ for it, because how dare he remind Jyoan of home.

 

Deep down, he knew everything he hated Houmei for was a part of himself. Deep down, he knew that he could be just as tacky and loud and brash as his upbringing had been. It was a hopeless struggle that left him bitter and wondering what was the point of it all. He was destined to fail at everything, no matter how hard he tried. But weakness was his biggest failing, and he refused to let them see him fail. He got up every day and kept struggling, because he couldn’t let them know he believed every word that had been said. It was the only victory he had.

 

Houmei never seemed to respect the distance Jyoan kept. Just like his home, Houmei stuck around like a plague, just to annoy him and remind him of everything he’d done wrong. Of course he never said as such, but his existence was more than enough. He was Jyoan’s nightmare come to life, and seemed to have little care for the emotional trouble he caused.

 

At a point, Jyoan stopped fighting it. He was just so damn tired of fighting all the time, and Houmei was the most fruitless of all his struggles. If he stayed quiet, if he didn’t react, Houmei might lose interest and leave.

 

The problem with that tactic, it turned out, was that Jyoan got  _ used _ to him. He got used to that inane babbling and stupid philosophizing (not always, but you’d be hard pressed to get him to admit that out loud) that came out of Houmei’s mouth so when Houmei stopped showing up one day, Jyoan  _ noticed _ . Somehow, the silence was suddenly too much, and the thoughts that had one time been drowned out by pointless talk were louder than ever.

 

He swore he only approached Houmei to confront him. Really, he had to be doing this on purpose, no matter how much the fool he played in his response. Jyoan went to scold him, and he knows he did, but then Houmei turned on him, and asked if he was upset because Jyoan started to get familiar with him. He seemed so stupidly happy when Jyoan couldn’t respond, promising to make time for him every day, and Jyoan couldn’t understand why the thought to tell Houmei it wasn’t necessary never crossed his mind.

 

It became routine for them, to sit in the garden every night. Once spring came to the temple, the natural beauty flourished, and even in the colder months, it had a certain elegance that Jyoan found relaxing. Houmei would sit next to him and smoke and somehow manage to do the majority of the talking. Despite the noise, it was calming. It was familiar. This was his place and his time to be at his best, Houmei included. It was a strange sensation one day when he realized that he’d get a taste of that calming feeling sometimes during training if he happened to glance over at Houmei, the lines of his body always at ease. He was part of the moonlit garden Jyoan had so come to love.

 

Houmei was still tacky, he was still loud and flamboyant and everything Jyoan wanted to hate. But there was an elegance to it, to the way he embraced himself and everything that he was. The way he embraced Jyoan for everything that  _ he _ was. Houmei was a lot of things. But eventually, Houmei was his home. And Jyoan learned to love him as he loved himself.


	2. Define

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can't help but think Houmei knows more than he lets on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be in the "Home" ficlet but it didn't end up working. I had still wanted to do something with it so I did.

“Don’t you think it’s funny, how people put so much value on the past?” The question surprises him, when Houmei asks out of the blue. The look on his face is different than usual, and for once Jyoan isn’t been sure if he’s supposed to respond. “It seems pointless, if you ask me. It’s a trivial thing, you know. It may shape you, but it doesn’t define you. What defines you is who you are now.”

 

The way he stares out into the garden, holding a cheap cigarette and releasing chemical smoke into the night air with the most thoughtful expressions Jyoan’s ever seen on him, he looks almost regal. For a moment, he can almost see him with an elegant pipe, long hair done up in a simple ponytail, or perhaps a braid, older and wiser with the pure white robes befitting of his title. Sitting on the porch of a temple many miles away in this same moonlight, speaking to an audience of perhaps one or two, bestowing wisdom on only those worth. For a moment, he almost seems like a Sanzo, an unearthly being with an understanding beyond any mortal priest.

 

“That makes no sense. If your past is who you are, then it defines you.”

 

“Perhaps. But it’s not all there is to you, you know.” When Houmei looks at him, there’s a moment of knowing, as if he’s read down to Jyoan’s very core and  _ understands _ , like he knows everything Jyoan’s never said and will never say. The moment passes, and he’s back to the usual relaxed ease, lips curling into a smile. “At least, that’s just how I see it. I don’t really know that much about it.”

 

Though Jyoan is quick to agree, he can’t help but think that Houmei knows far more than he lets on.


	3. Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last thing he expects is the warm hand that tightly grasps his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't stop thinking about the hand holding scene in the Ibun musical tbfh. And if you thought my ass wasn't gonna write about it, you'd be wrong.

When he calls for their aid, a rallying cry to survive the oncoming avalanche, he doesn’t expect them to come together that easily. Perhaps Momo might, maybe Genkai, but they’re not close, and he’s run away most of the fight. They’re all stubborn, just like he is.

 

When Jyoan approaches him, he expects a fight. He expects insults and the inevitable accusations of foul play. The last thing he expects is the warm hand that tightly grasps his, the first hand on his right side joining them together.

 

He knows he stares, red eyes meeting his in a moment that seems to hang in an eternity. Elegant lavender hair, falling around him in a curtain, somehow still sleek after fighting so long. Up close he can see the frizz. He can see flyaway hairs and the telltale sheen of sweat at the roots, and already drying salt at the ends. He can see the fire in his eyes as his gaze shifts, determined, after all, to win. By any means necessary.

 

He’s put that faith in Houmei, and Houmei almost can’t believe the strength in the hand that holds his. For a moment, he almost forgets why he’s done this, taken aback by the unexpected for the first time in a long time.

 

It lasts mere moments before Ganpuku speaks up, shattering the spell that holds his attention, and bringing him back to the harsh reality of the peril that surrounds them. Even as the others come to their senses and join them, as more hands clasp his and join their strength, he can’t forget the heat of the hand in his right, strong and resilient to protect the delicate butterfly to which it’s attached.


End file.
